Chel looked over to where Matil stood, Ghiz at her side. The little man was pointing and jabbering with excitement, resplendent in gleaming mail and colours. Matil was in armour herself, her new breastplate burnished gold. Everyone wants to look the part, he thought, but will that be enough? Back on the plateau, figures were scuttling around the back of the engine, and after a moment it lurched forward, pulled by an invisible team.

‘There are horses behind the shield,’ Tarfel said, eyes narrowed, as if in answer to Chel’s own thoughts. ‘Vedren, could this be—’

The engine rocked to a halt, another wisp of smoke rising from within, and after a heartbeat another object came fizzing out from its innards, this time at a flatter angle. It whooshed out over the gorge, trailing a drifting plume of black smoke, flying wide of the city once again. Already the jeers were rising in answer, but Chel followed its path, swivelling to track it out of sight. He raced to the rampart’s far end, losing the projectile but tracing its path by its dissipating tail. It would have cleared much of the gorge that time, maybe even hitting the cliffs of the far side where the Martyrs’ Bridge – one of the two structures connecting the city to the northern expanse – joined the plains.

The Martyrs’ Bridge.

He fought his way back to Tarfel, heart thumping in his chest. ‘Tarf! We have to warn Matil. They’re not going for the city, they’re aiming for one of the bridges to the plains!’

The prince turned, concern etching deep grooves in his young face. ‘This is Denirnas all over again. The black ships! Nortish alchemy!’

The seneschal followed their words, her smile fading. ‘But even if they could hit the bridge,’ she said, ‘how would they damage it with these smoking arrows? It is solid stone!’

‘They’re not arrows,’ Chel said, urging Tarfel toward where the Keeper stood surrounded. ‘They’re loaded with witchfire.’

Tarfel called for Matil, Chel his ram, shouldering their way through the crowd of worthies toward her as another dark arrow hissed through the sky behind them. The seneschal followed, bobbing in their wake.

‘Exalted!’ Chel cried, hoping Tarfel was close enough to prevent him being tackled by house guards. ‘You must get everyone off the Martyrs’ Bridge! Clear the bridge!’

She heard him at the third cry, waving him and Tarfel through. ‘What are you saying, Chel of the South? We need to keep moving refugees out of the city.’

‘They’re trying to destroy it. Those arrows are packed with their black powder.’

She blinked, her eyes flicking back to the engine on the plains. ‘Even if that is true, it will take many more such arrows to damage our bridge. At this rate, it will be days before they even stain it.’